


The Strain

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Pacemakers [26]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Accidents, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Biased Leaders, Energy Drain, Eventual Happy Ending, False Accusations, Hiding Medical Issues, Impulse Control, Lies, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Mission Fic, Missions Gone Wrong, Rants, Recklessness, Relationship Problems, Showing Off, Sneaking Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:59:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a failed mission and an injury to a friend, both of which were his fault, Windcharger speaks out, saying anything except what he needs to...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strain

**Author's Note:**

> Pace - A company or herd of mules; in my headcanon, a family of Minibots; also a traditional expectation and an honor among Minibots who form one
> 
> One - the first Minibot to agree to join the proposer's pace

Windcharger called out in triumph as he dodged Thundercracker’s thick spray of laser fire, his tires squealing against the rocky landscape as he cut a sharp turn. Sideswipe’s momentary jealous glare made him chuckle as he burst forward full throttle, blurring the other warrior’s face.

Primus, he _loved_ being the fastest Autobot.

What the Decepticons were after this time was some glitched-up project Wheeljack had invented a long time ago. He’d called it an ‘augmentation simulator’; something that he had hoped could mimic the Decepticons’ special abilities. However, Wheeljack had added sheepishly, it had somehow gotten a few wires crossed and only worked on Autobots.

Windcharger was their best bet for a game of keep-away, so the Minibot currently had the boxy object strapped to his top. Even if by his standards it was slowing him down, the Cons still couldn’t catch him.

“Charger, stop showing off and get that thing to safety!” Bumblebee scolded. He was supposed to be ‘covering’ Windcharger but found himself straining to keep up with his pace-mate.

“Aw, Bee, c’mon! After this mission, when do you think the Cons will even give me a second glance? They know I’m too fast for ’em, but they haven’t got any choice but pursue me!” Windcharger called back gleefully, using a bit of his magnetism to lift himself onto his two right wheels, gracefully sliding along the canyon wall before landing on all fours once more.

It was in that same moment that he heard it: “Target the scout!” Megatron hollered, almost immediately rewarded by a distressed yelp from Bumblebee.

Many things happened all at once: the realization kicked in that Bee was hurt, along with the knowledge that it was indirectly his fault, and Windcharger reacted—slamming on the brakes, transforming, and whirling around simultaneously. Almost immediately he was staggered by sharp pain as the edge of the jostled machine stabbed into his neck cables, but that wasn’t important. Knowing he wouldn’t reach his pace-mate in time to shield him from another blow, he actuated the last of his magnetism, gripping the other mech and reeling him in as fast as he could while thinking of safety.

Before he could even look at Bee’s wound, claws clamped around both the machine and the back of his neck, heaving skyward. Windcharger hollered in anguish and fear, flailing and thrashing uselessly in Laserbeak and Buzzsaw’s combined hold, his feet pedaling air. Finally he reached up, ripping the cords that tethered him to Wheeljack’s invention, and then braced himself for a reunion with gravity.

It didn’t come, as Sideswipe burst up to him via jetpack and caught him. “Well, look who acted fast and saved you,” he joked as they spiraled much more gently downward. Windcharger laughed, but it was hoarse. He was more concerned with Bumblebee at the moment than Sideswipe lording this over him.

His legs were _very_ wobbly when he left Sideswipe’s arms; the energy use had drained him nearly to collapsing. Still, he perked up enough to see Bumblebee waving concerned Bots away; the shot had burned his arm, but it wasn’t too bad.

“It just caught me by surprise,” he explained. “Sorry about that.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” Windcharger spoke up, wobbling toward Bee and putting a hand on his shoulder, above the burn. “You were right. I shouldn’t’ve been showing off; I put a target on you.”

Bee smiled a little. “Thanks. I’d say don’t do it again, but it’s you.”

Windcharger chuckled again, but his smile faltered as energy drain sank in. Lowering himself carefully onto a nearby rock, he tried to even out his venting as he stared hard at the ground and then found his vision filled with Ratchet’s feet.

“Didn’t…didn’t _quite_ burn out. That’s an improvement, right?” he rasped, holding out his arm. Ratchet was already in action, withdrawing a syringe and a flask of medical-grade dielectric oil.

“Fortunately for you, I knew you were the main lead on this operation and came prepared for this,” Ratchet grumbled. “Really, Windcharger, Bumblebee is right. You ought to stop doing this.”

Windcharger kept his optics averted from the syringe and from his comrades. Despite how easily Bumblebee had forgiven him, guilt was starting to gnaw at him. He’d injured a Bot who was a member of his pace as well as a teammate, had lost the objective to the Decepticons, and now had assigned himself an impromptu medical session in front of the entire mission roster. To top it all off, his neck was aching like the Pits!

 _That never happens to me; I’m built of stronger stuff than that_ , Windcharger thought. _I have to prove it to them_. As soon as Ratchet removed the instrument from his arm, Windcharger forced himself to his feet, rolling his shoulders a few times.

“C’mon,” he urged, half-turning in the direction the jets had gone and holding onto the canyon wall. “We need to go after the Decepticons!”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Ratchet cut in sternly. “I’m taking you and Bumblebee back for repairs and refueling.”

Windcharger frowned, demanding, “ _Why?_ I’m okay; I’m sure I can get that thing back, but not if we stand here and let the Cons get a head-start!”

The surprised expression Ratchet had worn for the first few words of the protest had by now shifted into a warning of an oncoming storm if it continued. “Windcharger—”

Glaring up at Ratchet was starting to hurt his backstrut, but now that he’d started he couldn’t catch ahold of himself. “Is this punishment since I just lost the machine in the first place? But, Ratchet, now that my power’s run out, they can’t steal it! I’m not vulnerable to the simulator!”

“No, only to everything else!” Ratchet shot back. “Look at yourself. You’re still holding the canyon wall.”

As soon as the words registered as true, Windcharger dropped his hand and almost immediately reeled sideways against his will. Ratchet caught him, holding him upright by one shoulder.

“That’s what I thought,” he said sharply. “Come along quietly so I won’t have to medically order you!”

It took a great deal of effort, but Windcharger ground his jaw and gave in; to rile up Ratchet much further would be the worst mistake of the list he was making.

—

The time he’d spent on an IV had definitely helped with his vitality and the twinges in his arms and legs, Windcharger mused as he crept tentatively away from the medical bay. However, his neck was intent on going taut and making it hard to turn his helm in any direction. As soon as Ratchet had gone into the other room to weld Bumblebee’s shoulder, Windcharger had used his recharging magnetism to remotely turn off the juice and made his escape.

“Charger!”

Said Bot turned his entire frame around at the call, finding Brawn. He swallowed, his optics shifting nervously. What would Brawn’s opinion be of how the mission had gone?

“Hey,” Brawn greeted as he approached. “You’re out early.”

“Yep, I am,” Windcharger agreed, resisting the urge to nod vigorously.

“Why don’t we test your energy level? Spar a bit?”

 _Scrap_. “Brawn, I—uhh, Ratchet told me to take it easy,” Windcharger stammered.

“Hm. Alright, then, let’s just talk,” Brawn suggested, looping an arm around Windcharger’s shoulders and guiding him in the direction of their quarters.

 _I never knew how_ heavy _Brawn’s arm is_ , Windcharger groaned internally, quickening his steps a bit; the sooner they got there, the better.

When they entered their berthroom, Windcharger abruptly realized that there was only one other pace-mate present…just _the_ One. As soon as he saw Huffer sitting motionlessly on his berth, waiting for them, Windcharger shrugged out from under his pace-leader’s hold and turned to face him.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked directly.

Brawn pursed his lips and tilted his helm slightly, pointedly ignoring the question and asking a different one.

“Why’d you try to go on?”

Windcharger already knew what he meant. “Because I was the one who lost the thing,” he responded bluntly, folding his hands behind his back and draping a cape of magnetism over his neck and shoulders, pressuring into them in an attempt to appease his sensory net.

“We all know that you’re impulsive, Windcharger,” Huffer sighed, forcing Windcharger to pivot completely. “You’ve said it before. But overloading comes with medical attention! You usually don’t have tantrums about it.”

“Why can’t I?” Windcharger exclaimed. “You have tantrums about _everything_ and I don’t see Brawn getting on _your_ back cos of it!”

Both of his pace-mates went ramrod-straight, startled at the accusation of bias. “I’ve talked to him about it more times than I can count, Windcharger,” Brawn countered. “And the only reason we’re supposedly ganging up on you is cos we want to know you’re alri—”

“I’m just fine!” Windcharger cut in angrily, throwing up his hands. The movement was a foolish one, as the magnetism he was still projecting (and not controlling) ricocheted upward, dented the ceiling and then streaked back at him, blasting him prostrate on the floor.

“Primus, Charger!” Brawn blasphemed as he entered the sizzling magnetic zone, heedless of any danger. “Are you okay?”

It took Windcharger just that long to find the wordless keen of agony hidden in his chassis. Brawn glanced in alarm at Huffer, who scrambled to Windcharger’s other side, opposite Brawn.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t…get up,” he gasped, struggling to negate his own words and only managing to jar another whimper out. “I literally can’t sit up.”

At these words Brawn seized his hands and bodily folded him into a sitting position, dragging him toward the support of the wall.

“Okay, okay, what hurts?” he demanded, hands hovering as though he thought to fix whatever it was on his own. It would’ve been endearing if Windcharger had cared right now.

“Well, I think I just dented my shoulders and my whole lower back,” Windcharger ground out. “And I—I injured my neck on the mission…”

“What? That wasn’t in Ratchet’s report,” Huffer burst out.

“I know. I didn’t tell him,” Windcharger whispered, shuttering his optics so he wouldn’t have to see their expressions. He could feel the shock, however, where their EM fields were blending with his. From Brawn’s field he felt the buildup of something else entirely and braced himself.

What startled him instead was a sudden banging on the door, which Huffer answered. He was immediately shoved aside by an irate medic and a fearful scout.

“Cybertron below me, what is wrong with you?!” Ratchet hollered. “Deactivating your IV and removing it without proper procedure, leaving without discharge—you _have_ to be a miss-clock!”

“What were you thinking?” Bumblebee chimed in, dismayed. “You didn’t use the whole IV pack, so you haven’t even refueled entirely!”

“And don’t think I don’t smell the ozone in here,” Ratchet spat. “Using your powers without fully refueling compromises your ability to control it; _that_ endangers everyone in this ship!”

Windcharger opened his optics just a bit and then wished he hadn’t. Huffer looked aghast. Brawn looked thunderous.

“Alright, Windcharger,” their pace-leader growled, rising and standing aside, giving Ratchet a clear path to his little lost sheepacron. “ _Now_ you’re in trouble.”

—

With his diagnosis of whiplash, a very reluctant Windcharger found himself assigned to his berth with a frozen gel pack cradling the back of his strained throat cables. Cliffjumper and Gears had taken it upon themselves to guard him and make sure he couldn’t bolt.

“CJ, tell me honestly: is Brawn… _really_ steamed at me?” Windcharger asked, grimacing as he tried to turn his helm and look questioningly at Cliff. Gears, who stood above him, immediately straightened his helm again.

“Stop, fraggit,” he rebuked tersely. “You need to hold still.”

Windcharger scowled, waving his feet back and forth just to irk his hypochondriacal pace-mate. “On a scale of one to ten,” he continued, trying to see Cliffjumper in his peripheral while keeping himself straight, “one being he’ll get relatively cuddly after a few joors and ten being he’ll put me back in the med bay as soon as I’m better—how steamed is he?”

“Mm…a seven,” Cliffjumper cautioned, drawing a hiss from Windcharger’s vents that wasn’t for pain.

“Really?” he prodded gingerly. “Is that an estimation or—”

“No, Charger, it was a _joke_ ,” Cliffjumper sighed, closing the distance and leaning over so they could meet optics. “Listen, I’ve probably had Brawn steamed at me more times than you and Gears put together. More often than not, there are two reasons for it: either I’ve looked the wrong way at someone I shouldn’t’ve (despite the fact that they probably deserved it) _or_ I’ve decided to be a piston-head and put myself in danger.”

Due to Cliffjumper’s proximity, Windcharger could easily see the smirk lurking on his mate’s face, trying to ruin the solemnity of the explanation as he concluded, “It’s kinda obvious which one you are.”

“I don’t think it’s just that,” Windcharger mumbled, wishing he could look away. “I kinda…let him think Ratchet cleared me to leave his T.L.C. And…kinda sort of got mad and implied that he’s softer to Huff than to the rest of us.”

Even without having fully taken Cliff’s mouth, the smirk faltered. “Oh,” Cliffjumper pronounced uneasily. “In that case, it might be an eight.”

Before Windcharger could react, the door opened and the rest of the pace filed in. “Don’t try to sit up,” Brawn stopped Windcharger right as he started putting pressure on his elbows and Gears lunged to stop him with a sharp exclamation of “Keep still, you glitch!”

Though he wasn’t able to lift his helm and look, Windcharger suspected Brawn ran a hand over his face before his sigh. “So. It’s been a pretty fraggin’ bad day for us, Windcharger. You endangered Bee on the mission, hid an injury, left the med bay without full treatment, lied to me and then accused me of caring more for my One than the rest of you.”

“On that last subject,” Huffer added, his voice a bit smaller than usual, “Brawn and I have agreed that I have been taking up a lot of his time. I’ll admit that I’m—”

“I understand,” Windcharger burst out. “And I’m sorry for what I said if it hurt your feelings. I know you gravitate to him since you’ve known him the longest and he’s a One for you just like you are for him.”

“That’s another thing you’ve been doing today: interrupting!” Huffer snapped. When Windcharger fell silent, he continued, “I’m high-maintenance. I can admit that just like you can admit you’re impulsive and Cliff can admit he’s always running hot. But I’ve got other people I can go to; I feel bad for not trusting any of you.”

“But you have reason not to trust _me_ ,” Windcharger muttered, grimacing at the ceiling. “A whole list of reasons; everything Brawn just said is true.”

“And here’s what we’re going to do about it,” Brawn began, moving closer so their EM fields blended. Windcharger was surprised to find that he was projecting composure, even…reassurance? “Tomorrow, while you rest, we’re leading a mission to retake that augmentation simulator from the Cons. We’re going to be successful. Then when we get back, we’ll use it.”

“On me,” Windcharger prompted. He knew he deserved to be without his speed and magnetism, at least for a while.

“On the entire pace,” Brawn corrected. Windcharger felt his disbelief radiate and amusement from Brawn countered it. “Yeah. And then we’ll spend the orn alone in here and have a defrag: no powers, no favoritism, on equal footing. We’ve already approved it with Prime and Wheeljack knows how to return the upgrades when we need ’em.”

Windcharger lay completely still for a series of kliks and then finally started laughing.

“What?”

“I have done _nothing_ to deserve you all.”

“You can start,” Gears growled, flattening his hands on Windcharger’s shoulders, “by _holding still!_ ”


End file.
